Snowflakes

A New Spirit on the Breeze

A ghostly gray was the evening air, an ethereal soup of snow filled clouds and filtered moonlight, but black as pitch was the horse and carriage parked in front of the modest country home. It was a strong and proud horse with a shiny mane, and as handsome a carriage as ever a carriage was, but only sorrow could the presence of this rig bring to the grieving family within the home, for it meant a beating heart had gone silent.

Two men in long coats shared a cigarette near the opened carriage gate. The first was the undertaker, a tall and gangly man – his coat draped from his shoulders like it was hung in a closet. His gray and white hair was parted smartly in the middle, pressed firmly to his scalp with a particularly aromatic pomade and curled into a tight vortex over either temple. He was a pleasant fellow well enough, but often too pleasant for the liking of most, acknowledging his profession.

A whole foot shorter than the undertaker, the doctor was a slightly rounded man. His woolen vest and coat were tailored for a proper fit. A matching fedora covered his thinning hair to protect his head from the cold and snow. Round, wire-rimmed glasses made him look more like a politician than a healer.

“Couldn’t ask for a better night for the old fellow,” said the undertaker.

“No that’s for sure,” answered the doctor. “I’m sure he asked Saint Pete for the honor on the occasion.”

“Such a shame so close to Christmas though,” the undertaker said.

“I don’t know,” said the doctor. “I suppose it is difficult for those that knew him and loved him as it were – better than Christmas day I suppose, but I think a spirit such as his… perhaps it is appropriate that it be set free this time of year.”

The undertaker shook his head and made a pensive frown.

“What-a-ya say we have a drink to the good man,” said the doctor pulling a bottle from his breast pocket and unscrewing the cap.

“If you’ll not call the constable for obliging your offer,” returned the undertaker, “I’d be happy to share a bit of your medicine doc.”

“Medicine indeed,” said the doc. “Mine is a handy profession during these times.”

“No argument from me I dare say,” replied the undertaker.

“To the Snowflake Man, may his spirit drift with the North Wind,” said the doctor hoisting the bottle and taking a draw before passing it to the undertaker.

“Aye,” said the undertaker, “to the Snowflake Man,” as he took a long and willful gulp of the warm liquor prohibited by law.

Just then four young men, modestly dressed against the cold, emerged from the home struggling with a weighty pine box.

“Ah, right this way,” said the undertaker directing the men to slide the box into the carriage. “Very good. That will do.

“Well then doctor, I suppose I will take it from here.”

“Yes, I suppose you will,” replied the good doctor.

“You will excuse me, but I must be going. As you can see, I have business to attend to. Do have a Merry Christmas doctor.”

“Yes of course. And you do the same.”

High above the horse and carriage, the undertaker’s business, and the grief burdened home, nature’s forces – or rather heavenly ones being that nature does not act without the will of God – were shaping the elements to create original and exceptional little miracles with a life dependent upon the wind. Tiny particles of dust, liberated to the sky, collide with pure, cold vapor giving birth to a fragile jewel. On this night, a new and kindly spirit drifts carelessly down with these formations, a spirit of ambition, charity, and kindred hope.

A Christmas Muse

Christmas Eve Day, 1931, amid the snowcapped mountains and soggy coal roads of northern Appalachia, Barrett Stapleton upheld his weekly regimen of reading the news over burnt coffee made from re-used grounds at the county feed store. A world from nowhere, the feed store had the only regular newspaper around. Barrett was the store’s best customer, though he seldom bought anything. At the heart of the Great Depression, there was little the common farmer could afford, though Barrett never let his family go with less than they needed.

On this night, Christmas Eve dinner would consist of two squirrels, and if his boys were lucky today, a pheasant. Homegrown potatoes with dangling white tentacles would be brought up from the cellar, cleaned, skinned, and mashed. Cornbread made from hand-ground cornmeal and nearly a week’s worth of flour would grace the table in a red-hot cast-iron skillet. There would be homegrown beans, a ladle full for Barrett and his wife Emma, and each of his four children. Homemade butter, and greasy brown gravy would top it all off, and after dinner, Emma would unveil a miracle of a hickory pie made from tediously extracted hickory nuts collected from their woods.

Food and family would be the greatest gift this year, as it had been so many years before, for what money they had, would be spent on practical things like the rare new pair of shoes. Still there were thoughtful and fun gifts to be had like a handmade coat for John, or a patchwork quilt for Martha, a slingshot made from a birch fork and an inner tube for Mathew, and a small horse carved from a block of sassafras for Sara. Whatever the gift, never a complaint would be made. No one in the family would dare think of complaining for they had no reason. They had each other and wanted for nothing.

As Barrett was absorbed in his only indulgence, news of a fantasy world outside his little valley, he read about the life and death of Mr. Wilson A. Bentley. The Daily Ledger headline read Snowflake Man dies at home.

The community of Jericho, Vermont was saddened today by the news that famed scientist and photographer Wilson A. Bentley, a.k.a The Snowflake Man, succumbed to illness at his home there on Wednesday.

Bentley earned the moniker Snowflake Man for his discovery in 1895 that no two snowflakes were alike. He since committed himself to the study and photography of snow and ice crystals…

Barrett was compelled by the story of a man that could dedicate his life to something as innocuous as snowflakes and make a living doing it. He thought of his children, what miraculous creations they were and how they drifted through this world content to fall upon the wind oblivious to the troubles of the day. He half wondered if they secretly wished for more but thought the better of it when he pictured each of their faces – never glum or sad, always posed in a contented smile or engrossed in laughter. Barrett felt blessed, but even more so, he felt inspired.

It was a cold and dreary winter’s day, and the threat of more snow loomed down the hollow, but few things stood in Barrett’s way when he took a mind to something, not even Old Man Winter. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, and his new plan simply would not wait until the stores opened again after the holiday. Thin leather boots with a worn rubber sole as his only mode of transportation, Barrett set off on foot, two hours to the nearest bookstore taking a chance they would have a copy of Bentley’s book, Snow Crystals, published only months before.

Barrett found the book and without a penny in his pocket, bartered for the manuscript. It was a last-minute Christmas idea for his darling progeny, especially his baby girl, his little snowflake Sara.

Christmas Decadence

From the warmth and comfort of his upper middle-class home the day before Christmas, Jay sipped a glass of mulled wine watching flurries drift slowly down to an already white landscape. The last few days of rushing home from work, trudging through overcrowded stores, and racing from mall to shopping center to mall over icy roads in a packed and filthy SUV had really worn on him. But the worst was over; the shopping was done and his wife Alyssa was wrapping the last of the gifts. January’s credit card bill might come as a bit of a shock, but right now Jay was content to enjoy his winter drink, listen to some Christmas music and think about how happy he would be to see Davie and Jessica tear into their presents.

Just then, a single snowflake planted softly against the windowpane collecting his gaze. In the instant that passed, Jay admired the detail and intricate structure of such a tiny formation. The light danced around it like a rotating prism. It was dying in a flurry of colors – white, red, then green and blue. Then it twinkled and fluttered and faded away.

“Snowflakes are touched by the angels,” Jay remembered his late mother’s words. “They carve each and every one by hand and each one different from its neighbor to remind us of the limitless beauty of heaven.”

That was Meredith’s embellishment on the story of her mother Sara and the snowflake book her father had gone to such great lengths to acquire. Each Christmas Eve she would pull out the aging book and talk of Christmas long since passed when family and a good homecooked meal was the best present any child could ask for. Jay and his sisters would thumb through the worn and dog-eared pages of photos trying to decide on the most beautiful snowflake of them all.

The familiar baritone of Johnny Cash boomed through Jay’s Bose speakers as he shifted his gaze back over the rooftops of homes scattered throughout the valley. “One day near Christmas when I was just a child…” said the man in black. Jay suddenly felt a wave of irony rush over him, millions of tiny snowflakes each unique and one of a kind… hundreds of homes exactly the same.

He wondered how many Xboxes and tablets there were out there – how many cameras and cell phones? How many DVDs and CDs, bikes and RC-cars would the children in the world out his window wake to in the morning? It would be unique to go without all those things.

Minutes later Jay was rummaging through his attic looking for a piece of his past. He found it buried in a cardboard box beneath an old sportscoat and some stained and faded, blue, denim jeans. He swept the cover with his right hand and read it aloud, “Snow Crystals, W. A. Bentley and W. J. Humphreys, 2543 illustrations.”

That evening after a Christmas Eve dinner, Jay collected young Davie and little Jessica on the sofa to share an old memory of his childhood and try to revive a Christmas story that began more than a generation before he was born.

He told the story of Christmas during tough times when the gift of family was celebrated throughout the year. He told them how young Sara cried when her daddy wasn’t home for dinner that Christmas Eve many years ago and how her mother worried so but wouldn’t let on. Her brothers and sisters tried to calm the youngest Sara, but they all worried just the same.

“So, you see guys, Christmas is about love and family, and being together,” Jay said to his children. “You two are pretty lucky that Mom and I can get you nice things… toys, clothes and shoes. Once upon a time, this book was even more than a little girl dreamed.”

“Are there girls today daddy that don’t have any presents,” Jessica asked. “Are there girls like me but don’t have toys.”

“Yes sweetie. I’m afraid there are,” Jay answered.

“But what about Santa?”

“There’s no such thing stupid!”

“Davie! Don’t call your sister stupid,” Jay said.

“Well sweetheart, that’s really difficult to explain…” but Jay did his best to rationalize to a 6-year-old why Santa comes to her home, but not another little girl’s home.

Knowing even his best explanation fell short of the mark, Jay pressed the inquisitive child on his lap to look at the amazing pictures in the book. So, father, son and daddy’s little girl thumbed through the musty old book until a time, which all young children should be in bed on Christmas Eve.

Empty Seat at the Table

Blowing snow whispered against the windows at the hour eve and morning cross in the night. Inside the family slept undisturbed, until a chill woke Jay from his warm and comfortable rest. A sheer curtain wisped in front of an open window where tiny snowflakes found their way into the home sparkling in the dim light as they fell to the floor.

Reluctantly, but without question, Jay rose to close the disagreeable window. As he stood up to the glass, he suddenly felt warm and embraced. He felt weightless and swept away. A swirl of blue and white whisked him into the night air, but the cold did not touch his skin. A glistening fog engulfed and disoriented him. He couldn’t even discern up from down until his feet found solid ground once more.

As the fog withdrew, he saw a brick walk merged into a stone ledge, then a wall, and a large pane of glass adorned with the word “BOOKS” in large gold-foil block letters. Jay pressed his face against the window and it stung his skin. One man walked to a counter behind which stood another man. Jay could hear their voices as if he stood beside them.

“Mr. Stapleton! Haven’t seen you in a few moons,” said the gentlemen behind the counter. “What brings you to town today… a storm is brewing you know.”

“Afternoon Mr. Starnes… I’m hopin’ you have a particular book for me.”

“For you this time… not for miss Martha or young Matthew?”

“Actually, it’s for Sara,” Barret said.

“Is she reading already? They certainly do grow fast.”

“Yes, she is a little, and Martha is bringing her right along, but this is a picture book actually,” said Barrett handing the salesmen the newspaper clipping he read earlier that day.

“Snow Crystals… Yes, I have a couple of those. Came in a few days ago. So, this Bentley fellow up and died did he? Reckon this edition is going to be a collector’s item?”

“I don’t know about that,” Barrett said, “I just know Sara will love it.”

“I’m sure you’re right about that… and I’m sure you are anxious to get going before that storm hits. How are you paying for this today?”

Barrett took a moment and looked down at the book on the counter. “I don’t have any money Will,” he said. “But you know I’m good for it. We’ve been trading for a long time.”

“Sure we have Barrett… what would you like to offer?”

“Well, we’ll have a spring crop in a few months… or my brother Bruce has some kiln dried walnut at his mill. I could make some nice shelves for those books you have on the floor yonder.”

“Shelves would be a blessing Barrett, but that’s far too much for this book.”

“Call it credit then,” Barrett said, happy he found a bargaining chip. “You know I’ll be needing more books after the holidays. Martha goes through one a week.”

“Now that’s a deal I can live with,” said Mr. Starnes. “Would you like me to wrap it up for you?”

“That would be great Will. And could you put double the paper on it? Snow is beginning to come down out there and I have a good walk ahead of me. I don’t want to soil the pages before I get home”

“Sure thing Barrett. Coming right up so you can be on your way.”

Jay continued to watch from outside the frosted window, unnoticed by the two men. A brown package was handed across the counter and the traveling shopper was on his way.

“Merry Christmas Will!”

“Merry Christmas to you Barrett and wish Emma and the kids my best!”

Jay once again felt unanchored by gravity or the physical world. The light snow and wind that surrounded him transformed into a swirling vortex sweeping him up and away once more.

Moments later he was placed softly onto a wooden floor. A baluster and column coalesced out of the fog with a porch and swing in tow. A bitter wind impregnated with hard, icy crystals stung his face as a barn, a forest, and a rutted, snow-covered road barely appeared out of the blinding storm.

He turned to face the home behind him and found himself staring through wavy and bubbled glass into the warm glow of a cozy little home. In one corner of the room, a Franklin cook stove stood with door ajar and smoldering coals within. On the other side of the room, square in the middle of the wall, a fire was starving for another log of wood. A sturdy table obviously handmade of roughly milled lumber sat firmly in the center of the room, which appeared to be dining room, kitchen, and family living room all combined. The table was dressed in the finest morsels of the day, but the children seated around seemed little interested in the feast.

On the bench, opposite the table from the window that Jay looked into the home, and bolstered atop a stack of books, sat a beautiful young girl that so reminded Jay of his little Jessica. He wasn’t sure how, or why, but Jay recognized the child right away as his late Grandmother Sara.

It was easy for Jay to see the young Sara was worried and distraught and unable to enjoy the meal won by her brothers and skillfully wrought by her mother and older sister. It was equally easy to see why. At the position of honor, across from Mother Emma perched on her sewing stool, sat empty the only proper chair around the table. The family’s father was missing from the feast on this sacred and holy night.

The red-hot skillet of corn bread had long grown cold and black when mother Emma bade her children to eat before all went to waste.

“Where is your father,” Emma said more to the door than the children. “I told him there would be snow today.”

“He’s probably at Uncle Bruce’s mill ma,” Matthew tried to sound positive. “Probably went there looking for scrap timber and got stuck in the storm.”

“I’m sure that’s it,” Martha said. “He would have been there long before the snow hit. You know how Daddy and Uncle Bruce get. He’s probably waiting out the storm there.”

“Yes, yes… I’m sure he’s fine… so go ahead now and eat like I told you,” Emma demanded. “No need in this food going cold for everyone.”

Mathew, Martha, and John reluctantly ate their fill, but little Sara only pushed her food around the plate. All four children passed furtive glances at their mother staring nervously out the window at blowing snow drifting in incredible mounds up to the porch of their modest home.

“Sara, quit playing with your food and eat,” Martha whispered to her little sister beside her.

“I’m waiting on Daddy.”

“Honey, Daddy is coming, and you know he is going to be angry if you don’t eat your supper,” Martha said. “Now eat or I’m giving your plate to Simon.” A blue heeler lying by the dying fire raised his head at the sound of his name.

Jay was too immersed in the family through the window to notice the faint figure slowly emerging out of the gray storm but then mother and children, and even Simon, leapt for joy as the worrisome patriarch came through the door dusting snow off his shoulders and stomping it off his feet. Jay’s mouth watered as he saw the steaming hickory pie finally served in happy reunion of father and family. It was a heartwarming, early Christmas present for all the children to enjoy, especially young Sara.

When everyone had their fill of pie and hot cider, the family gathered around the Snowflake book and a freshly stoked fire. Outside the storm had passed and a full moon illuminated a glimmering landscape through a wispy fog of fine blowing snow.

Father and youngest daughter sat on the porch step before a Christmas Eve slumber staring up through translucent clouds of snow. Sara held out her gloved hand and caught snowflakes examining each one in the shimmering moonlight for the instant before it disappeared.

“Is it true daddy? Are they really all different? Could they be,” Sara asked her father.

“They sure are sweetheart, each and every one special in its own way,” he said. “Just like my little girl.”

A swirl of blue and white lifted Jay off his feet one more time and laid him softly on his bed once more. Exhausted from his vision, Jay fell straight to sleep.

Christmas Revelations

With the first rays of morning barely clearing the eastern edge of the planet, Jay’s family woke to the excitement of Christmas Day. Outside, the landscape was covered with thick fluffy white powder glistening like satin in the early sun. Jay reflected for an instant on his vivid dream but left his thoughts to join his giddy children around the Christmas tree.

“Why don’t you be Santa this year Jessica and hand out the presents,” Jay said with an arm around wife Alyssa and a cup of fresh coffee in his hand. “Start with your brother.”

Jessica looked at the presents then to her parents. “I want to be a snowflake this year.”

Jay and Alyssa chuckled.

“Okay sweetheart… you’re a snowflake,” Jay said squatting eye-to-eye with Jessica and touching her on the nose.

“No, I… I want to give a little girl a present, a little girl like me that doesn’t have anything.”

Jay stood next to his wife once more and the couple looked at each other with curious admiration for their baby girl.

“Honey… that’s a sweet thing to do,” Alyssa said, “But it’s Christmas Day – the stores are closed.”

“I’ll give her one of my presents,” Jessica insisted.

“Okay…” Jay studied for a moment, “but maybe you should open them first,” he finally said, “so you know what they are before you give any away.”

“I know what they are,” Jessica said. “You got me everything I wanted, but I don’t need anything and there are other little girls that don’t have even one single doll… not one.”

Alyssa looked to Jay for an answer as Jay bit his lip in quiet meditation. He was cautious and concerned. How could he discourage his daughter’s plan without stifling this new, mature, charitable thought?

“Me too,” Davie joined the conversation. “I want to give away a present too.”

“Daddy…” Jessica said sensing her father’s hesitation, “the Snowflake Man said what to do. Don’t you remember?”

Alyssa turned flush, covered her mouth with a hand and placed the other on her husband’s shoulder. Jay was perplexed as he looked into his wife’s tear-filled eyes.

“Sweetheart…” Jay asked Jessica cautiously, “when did you see the Snowflake Man?”

“Last night...” she answered. “And Great Grandma… Don’t you remember Daddy? We were all there. He said grown-ups don’t see so good. But you saw didn’t you Daddy… You saw them through the window?”

Jay turned to his wife again in stunned disbelief. “Were you…”

Alyssa nodded her head as tears streamed down her cheeks.

An hour later, the family pulled up to the door of the Faith Mission Soup kitchen with a trunk full of unopened packages. With Davie’s help, Jay and Alyssa unloaded the packages and were greeted cheerfully by volunteers. Jessica walked knowingly into the dining room as her parents and volunteers looked on. Her arms were wrapped tightly around a large package she had carried in her lap from home. She had changed the card on the package to read From Jessica Snowflake. She walked right up to a young girl, two years her junior, sitting on her mother’s lap and sipping milk from a bowl.

Jessica had no way of knowing that she was giving the stranger the doll she had been asking for since Halloween. No way except the Snowflake Man had told her. “Merry Christmas,” she said handing the surprised child the package.

The mission director was walking around the room with a tray of cookies, muffins, and fruitcake and witnessed Jessica’s act. “I just want to thank you for bringing presents to the children,” she said to Jay and Alyssa. “It’s really quite special.”

“It was her idea,” Jay said nodding toward his daughter now talking and laughing with her new friend.

“They really are little miracles aren’t they,” the director said.

“That’s my little snowflake,” Jay said.

“Is it true daddy? Are they really all different? Could they be,” Sara asked her father.

“They sure are sweetheart, each and every one special in its own way,” he said. “Just like my little girl.”